Lorde summer is finally here, and it’s full of angst, resentment, contemplation and growth.

At age 16, a starry-eyed Lorde entered the music industry with back-to-back hits, reveling in teenage disillusionment. Twelve years later at 28, she sings of the pains of fame, generational trauma and body dysmorphia.

The New Zealand singer-songwriter released her fourth full-length album, “Virgin,” on June 27 — having consistently released albums every four years. Running about 35 minutes, the 11-track project takes you through Lorde’s last few years of heartbreak, self-reflection and self-discovery. 

“Virgin” is Lorde’s most introspective project to date. Where her 2021 album “Solar Power” dealt with ignoring the world’s hardships and embracing joy, “Virgin” accepts the trials in a world that is both joyous and difficult.

From dealing with eating disorders in “Broken Glass” and checking a pregnancy test in “Clearblue,” to pining for her mother’s praise in “Favourite Daughter” and reflecting on her experience being groomed in “David” — Lorde wrestles with the pain in her life, but accepts it for having shaped who she is now.

Lorde’s lyrics seem to have come deep from her gut. Her songwriting is biting and at times unsettling as she references controversial sex tapes, horniness and psychedelic drugs. Yet, through her words, Lorde is coming clean. She is a virgin: not tied to labels, she is all who she wants to be.

From a production standpoint, the songs on “Virgin” feel darker and more punchy than “Solar Power,” falling somewhere in between the subduedness of “Pure Heroine” and the heavy synths of “Melodrama.” The tracks highlight Lorde’s lyricism, with production pulling back most of the time and heightening only when necessary.

The album’s second single, “Man of the Year,” is a prime example of the production’s growing intensity. The song starts out very calm, but as the second chorus arrives, buzzing synths back Lorde’s lyrics and continue to intensify until the track ends. “Man of the Year” has a climax, but never truly creates closure. But in this, Lorde realizes that she herself is the man that she always needed. She feels like both a woman and a man: and she is a great man, at that. 

“Shapeshifter” stands out as a late-night drive anthem, perfect for summertime. Lorde describes having held many forms throughout her life — ice, flame, prize, ball, chain, to name a few — but claims to be unaffected. “I’ve been up on the pedestal / But tonight I just wanna fall,” she passionately sings. Lorde has shapeshifted into everything, she’s been in every situation. For once, she simply wants to fall into being herself. Truly, this track summarizes “Virgin” at its core. 

Here is Lorde at her rawest form. “Virgin” feels too brief to encapsulate four years of work, too toned down to sonically stand out. Its themes are touchy, and its marketing campaign was primitive (pop-up performances galore, with the first in New York City’s Washington Square Park being shut down). “Virgin” isn’t for everyone — but you can’t deny that it’s a work of art.

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